100 Themes Challenge
by scribeofruse
Summary: A fic that does what it says on the tin. Multiple Pairings, Characters, and Genres. Abandoned
1. 1: Introduction

_**I: Introduction**_

_Once upon a time in a land far, far away _is how you'd like to start this out, I suppose.

Except this isn't _Once upon a time_, nor is it a single land. These are the tales of many different lands, in many different universes, in many different times.

This is the 100 Themes Challenge.

_Let it begin._

_

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_

Authors Note:

As I basically said, this is the 100 Themes Challenge (the full list can be found on my profile, if you'd care to join me in my quest); this means that there is no set pairing, length or genre.  
I will list out each character or ship and the genre before each one. Any historical notes or personal commentary will be found at the end of the drabble.

Please remember to read and review!

~Chi

Well, it's better than most of the introductions I've seen on here for this challenge. 


	2. 47: Creation

**_XLVII: Creation_**

**Characters/Pairings:** Russia/[Insert Baltic State of Choice Here]

**Genre:** Horror

**Rating:** T+ - M

**Warnings: **AU, blood, nudity, sheer creepiness. Psychotic!Artist!Russia.

If you're at all offended or disturbed by any of these, I strongly suggest that you skip this one.

**DISCLAIMER:** If I owned Hetalia, it would be a lot less cute and fun and a whole lot more disturbing. Be glad that I don't.

* * *

His blood froze in his veins as he looked around the room, then slowly warmed as he remembered the actions of the previous night. Of the boy's betrayal of him. When the world around him turned red – in more than one way.

_He deserved it_.

Every piece of furniture was torn to shreds, except for the bed - the only thing still left with its insides intact, though the bedposts were ripped off and mangled as well. Glass was scattered across the floor like hazardous dewdrops. Stuffing leaked from the chair, trailing off-white tears against the dark fabric. In it sat the boy's body, naked, fair in face, a perfect picture but for the blue beginning to snake its way up his fingers.  
As he touched the boy, any remaining warmth still left in his body fled, instantly turning him completely white – the body he loved, the soul, having left. His skin took on the colour and feeling of snow.

After a few minutes of staring at the boy, he took up the task of painting him red. He tried to put the color back into him, using his blood as the paint and his own fingers as brushes. He started with the forehead, tracing intricate runes down his face, all the way down his body.

For this_, this was real art._

* * *

_Authors Note: _I warned you, did I not?

This one was originally for my AP English Final - I kid you not. The only thing I changed from there to here was the sex of the corpse.

I was helped on this one by my GBF, Michael, who is actually a writer and doesn't only play with other peoples characters.

Please review, even if it's to tell me you think I'm insane and should be put in a Psych ward (like my English class thinks I should be).

~Chi


	3. 2: Love

**_II: Love_**

**Characters/Pairings: **America, England. US/UK

**Genre: **Romance

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Britswears. Unhealthy doses of fluff? None, really.

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Hetalia, Shakespeare, OR the Beatles. If I did, my world would be about a million times more awesome. And yours would be about a million times worse.

* * *

Because, of course, Alfred can't try just any old way to win him over.

Oh no. Because that "Wouldn't Be Heroic" or some such nonsense.

Instead, he has to publicly – _publicly!_ – serenade Arthur at a world meeting – and not even with his own sodding music! The idiot is up front with a guitar in hand, singing about a _feeling inside,_ how he _wants to _bloody _hold Arthur's hand_.

As much as it kills him to admit it, Arthur thinks he likes this version better than the original. He can't help but agree with his old (and long since dead) friend Will on this one – _If music be the food of love, play on, maestro!_

* * *

A/N: No real notes here, other than the usual. Review Please!


	4. 19: Grey

**__****_XIX: Grey_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Poland. Mentions of Prussia and Russia.

**Genre: **General, with a side order of Angst.

**Rating: **K+

**Warnings: **OoC Poland

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Poland. Or Hetalia.

* * *

Feliks hates the colour grey.

It's the colour of both Prussia and Russia's hair; the colour of ashes and the sky before the heavens open up to dump their contents onto earth.

It's also the colour of iron, like that God-damned curtain. And those stupid bombs.

He really, _really_ hates the colour grey.

* * *

A/N: "that God-damned curtain" being, of course, the infamous Iron Curtain of the Cold War, and the bombs being the Atomic Bomb(s). (I don't think they were actually made of Iron, but I'm too lazy to research it.)

Review! Feed my need for attention and love!


	5. 21: Vacation

**__****_XXI: Vacation_**

**Characters/Pairings: **France, Spain, Prussia, Denmark, mentions of England and America. Subtly implied US/UK.

**Genre: **Humour

**Rating: **T+

**Warnings: **Prussia and Denmark's potty mouths. Fail French. Las Vegas. Human names used.

**DISCLAIMER: **Do you really think I own Vegas,_ The Hangover,_ or Hetalia? Honestly. I don't.

* * *

**_XXI: Vacation_**

"Oh, _gott_, my _head_," Gilbert moaned, disentangling himself from the sheets on the bed and looking around the hotel room. The room was completely trashed – furniture upended, clothing hanging from the chandelier, beer cans stacked in a high pyramid. Francis was lying in the middle of the floor, completely (and unsurprisingly) naked; Antonio was lying across the couch, wearing what appeared to be a suit of armour and snoring slightly. Søren was under the piano, using an extremely large tiger plushie as a pillow while muttering in his sleep.

Gilbert stood up, head pounding, and stumbled over to the bathroom, carefully stepping over Francis. Upon entering the bathroom, he saw that the floor was slightly flooded due to the overflowing bathtub – partially due to the _alligator attempting to swim in it_.

At this point, he let out an unearthly, _very manly _(read: _girly_) scream."HOLY FUCKING SHIT!" he yelled, running out of the bathroom, tripping over Francis and faceplanting into the floor, which immediately woke everyone else up.

"Gilbert?" Francis groaned, _"Quel est erroné?"_

"There is a fucking _alligator_ in the fucking _bathtub_, that's what's wrong!" Gilbert screamed.

At this, Søren sat up, proceeding to whack his head on the underside of the piano. "Bullshit," he protested weakly, rubbing his head where the piano had hit it.

"See for yourself!" Gilbert commanded.

"Fine!" Søren slowly crawled out from under the piano, then shuffled over to the bathroom. He cautiously opened the door, looked inside, and then slammed the door shut again, face pale. "He's not shitting us. There is a motherfucking _gator_ in the tub. Dude, what _happened_ last night?"  
They all looked around at one another, shrugging.  
"Hell if I know. God, Francis, I fucking _told_ you that this was gonna happen! But _no_, you just _had_ to decide to take us to Las-Fucking-Vegas. Dude, everyone knows _what happens to you in Vegas_. Didn't you see _The Hangover?_" Gilbert ranted.

"It's too early for you to be so loud, _Prusse_," Francis moaned, clutching his head and rolling up into the fetal position.

Antonio, who had long since started looking around the room, then decided to quietly ask, "Hey, guys? Have any of you seen Arthur?"

Søren blanched once again. "No. Fuck. Alfred's gonna kill us."

* * *

A/N: HEY LOOK. THIS ONE ACTUALLY HAS SOME LENGTH TO IT.

And, uh, just in case it wasn't obvious, Søren is Denmark.

I have no explanation, other than that Hetalia has completely ruined my brain. I can't even watch _movies_ without thinking about it.

The Hangover lent itself perfectly to this prompt. I thank the writers of that movie greatly for (unknowingly) letting me play with their toys.

Review, please!


	6. 63: Do Not Disturb

**_LXIII: Do Not Disturb_**

**Characters/Pairings: **England, OC Scotland, Scotland/?

**Genre: **Humour? General? I don't know...

**Rating:** K+ to T- (For Britswears and vague allusions to sex)

**Warnings: **Vague mentions of sexytiems, Arthur's mouth. OC Scotland.

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Hetalia, though this particular incarnation of Scotland is mine. Please don't steal him.

* * *

"Nicolae? Nicolae, come _on_, we're going to be late if you keep this up! It can't possibly take you this bloody long to get ready!" England shouted at Scotland's door, pounding on it for what felt like the hundredth time. He jiggled the handle, noting that it was still locked.

"Dammit, Nicolae! Don't make me unlock this door!" He swore, tugging at the handle.

It was only after another few moments that England realised that there were giggles and moans, as well as frequent "shush" noises emitting from behind the door.

He decided it would be better just to leave Scotland at home than to have to suffer god only knows what kind of sickening view by forcing the door open.

* * *

A/N: Uh, yeah. That "other person" with Scotland is supposed to be France.

But, hey, what England doesn't know won't hurt him, right?

DON'T STEAL MY NICU. I mean it. (If you'd like to borrow him, or rent him out, that's okay. Just make sure to return him, along with some art, okay?)

Review, please!


	7. 36:Precious Treasure26:Tears75:Mirror

**Hey, Look! A Three-for-One Bonus!**

_(otherwise known as, these are ridiculously short, and I don't want to put them in three separate chapters.)_

_Today's themes: **36: Precious Treasure, 26: Tears, and 75: Mirror**_

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN HETALIA.**

* * *

******_XXXVI: Precious Treasure_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Spain, Romano. Spamano if you tilt your head 90 degrees to the right and squint.

**Genre: **Fluff

**Rating:** K+

**Warnings: **Sheer fluff. Romano's pottymouth.

Of all the things that Spain has collected in his conquests – gold, silver, jewels, territories – nothing is worth quite so much to him as that scowling little face munching on some kind of food - usually pizza or tomatoes - while saying, "Welcome back, stupid bastard boss."

* * *

**_XXVI: Tears_**

**Characters/Pairings:** America, Mentions of England, OC Ireland. US/UK if you turn around 3 times and clap your hands while shouting, "I do believe in Faeries! I do! I do!".

**Genre: **Romance?

**Rating:** K

**Warnings: **Mildly fluffy. OC Ireland. Human Names used.

It always rained whenever Alfred visited England. It used to bother him, until Siobhan explained that the rain were the tears that Arthur refused to shed.

* * *

**_LXXV: Mirror_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Canada, mentions of America

**Genre: **Angst

**Rating:** K+, for mentions of cutting

**Warnings: **Human names used. Emo!Canada.

When he looked in the mirror, all he could – all anyone else could see – was a smaller, more pathetic version of Alfred. The only difference between the two was the shaky red lines snaking across his body.

* * *

A/N: And that's all, folks! (I *told* you they were short, did I not?)

The idea for number 26 comes from somewhere on LJ, I forget who had it at this point. But it was a delicious bit of headcanon that I unabashedly stole. (If it's yours, please claim it so I can credit you!)

Again, please don't steal Siobhan. She's mine, though if you'd like to rent her, you can give me fanart of her in whatever situation you used - or links in whatever you used.

Review, please!


	8. 11: Memory

**_XI: Memory_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Germany, Veneziano, Romano, Prussia, Hungary, Austria. Vague mention of Chibitalia.

**Genre: **Fluff? Romance? General? I don't know...

**Rating: **K+

**Warnings: **May or may not subscribe tothe "Holy Roman Empire= Little!Germany" Theory. Romano being Romano. Fail!Italian. Human names used.

**DISCLAIMER: **Really, I think we know it at this point. I really don't own Hetalia.

* * *

Ludwig prided himself on his practically flawless memory; therefore it frustrated him endlessly that he barely remembered his childhood.

He no longer bothered asking anyone about it, though, because no one would give him a straight answer – Elizaveta would always start sighing and staring off into the distance, while Roderich would always give some excuse to avoid answering. Gilbert was absolutely no help at all – "Why would you wanna know something as unawesome as that?" he would ask before going back to whatever he was doing before.

The one time he'd tried asking Feliciano, the Italian had looked at him with sad eyes and shaken his head, saying he didn't know Ludwig at that point in time.

He hadn't seen Feliciano for nearly a week after that.

At the next world meeting Lovino had tried to shank him, muttering something like "how dare you ask him about that, _estupido bastardo?"_

No, there was no point in asking anymore. He would just have to content himself with the memories of intense happiness, and the faint image of a little girl in a field of flowers.

* * *

A/N: Please excuse my very pathetic excuse for Italian. Feel free to correct it (and by "feel free", I mean "PLEASE DO".)

Review, please!


	9. 8: Innocence

**_VIII: Innocence_**

**Characters/Pairings: **America, Canada, OC Mexico. Sort-of-European Union.

**Genre: **Humour.

**Rating: **T (just to be safe)

**Warnings: **Whiney America, OC Mexico. Canada not being as innocent as you think.

**DISCLAIMER: Nope. Still don't own it.**

* * *

"It's not fair!" America protested, stomping his foot and pouting. "Just 'cause we're not part of Europe, they won't even let us in the building!"

"Well, I hate to break it to you, _chico_," Mexico sighed, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder, "But the organization _is_ called the European Union. We're North America. They're really not going to let us in."

"Yeah, but it's _laaaame~_! I mean, seriously, what're they doing in there that we're not allowed in?" America whined.

Canada looked up at the bleak sky, hands in his pockets, and grinned. "Isn't it obvious?" He asked of the two. "They're having an orgy."

* * *

A/N: What? Don't look at me like that. Canada _was raised by France. _The guy's anything _but_ innocent, no matter how much you try to deny it.

Don't you know? _It's always the quiet ones_. And our dear Matthew is probably the quietest of them all.

Review, please, even if it's only to tell me I'm insane.


	10. 53: Keeping a Secret

**_LIII: Keeping a Secret_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Fem!Canada, Fem!Prussia. PruCan Yuri. America. Mentions of past Holland/Fem!Can, Russia-Fem!Can, Belgium/Fem!Can, Fem!Can/Ukraine. Mentions of Fem!Veneziano (That'd be North Italy).

**Genre: **AU, Romance

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Overprotective America, Gakuen AU. Lots of Genderbending. Make out session at the end. Hickeys.

**DISCLAIMER: **Still don't own Hetalia. Heck, I don't even really own the basics of this... drabbley-one shot deal. Theme. Whatever it is. It technically belongs to .Authoress (who, by the way, is amaaaazing, and you should definitely read her stuff. All of it. Now.)

* * *

Madeline Williams let out a slight shriek when a hand grabbed her jacket from behind and dragged her into an empty classroom. She was about to scream when she saw that the culprit was her best friend – and secret girlfriend of two months – Gillian Beilschmidt.

"Gill" she protested, blood rushing up to turn her cheeks bright red, "I thought we said we wouldn't do anything at school! If Al finds out about us –"

"Oh, Maddie, puh-_leeze_. He's not gonna find out. That boy is more oblivious to other people's feelings than Felicia, and that's _saying_ something. Besides, even if he does, I can totally take him on," Gill grinned maniacally.

Maddie sighed. Gill just didn't get it – Alfred had chased off everyone who had dated or wanted to date her. _Every. Single. One._ Lars had managed for six months before Alfred had chased him off with a freaking _baseball bat_; Ivan had only glanced her way a few times before Alfred had "accidentally" checked him during hockey practice, landing him in the ER with a concussion and a broken nose (at this point, Maddie realised after this that she should really stop dating her brother's enemies, as well as members of the sports teams).

Margot had been her first foray into lesbianism – which had lasted nearly a month before Alfred caught on (he didn't care so much that she was "testing the boundaries", as he called it, but more the fact that she hadn't let him know beforehand). She and Katya had dated for an entire year before Katya's father had forced them to break up – after Alfred had accidentally let it slip at the hockey banquet.

Maddie had very nearly killed him after that. In any case, the broken arm and sprained ankle caused by her chasing him with _her _hockey stick was more than enough to tell him to _back the fuck off. _And he had, albeit rather reluctantly.

However, she knew better now than to tell him about her relationships after _any_ amount of time – which is why she had demanded that she and Gill keep their relationship a secret. So far, they'd lasted two months without Alfred – or anyone else, really – catching on… but Gill was getting tired of keeping secrets, which meant that she was starting to take more and more chances – leaving hickeys higher and higher up on Maddie's neck, pulling her into abandoned classrooms during school…

It was starting to make her lose sleep.

All worries of crazy overprotective brothers and increasingly chance-taking girlfriends were driven out of her head as Gill pressed her lips to Maddie's, starting an intense makeout session.

When both of them broke apart for air, Maddie gasped and quickly said, "really, Gill, you've gotta be more careful. It's not that I don't like this, or anything, 'cause I do, but –"

"Don't worry. I'll be careful," Gill reassured her, gently kissing her neck.

"Well, you can start by not leaving a hickey there," Maddie protested when the kisses became not as gentle.

"Aw, come on!"

* * *

A/N: This... theme... will probably be continued at some point. The prequel, at least, will be showing up...

Anyway, thanks to all the people who reviewed last chapter! It means a lot to me. *throws out cookies and sprinkles*

That doesn't mean you shouldn't review this time around, though.


	11. 12: Insanity 34: Stars

Another bonus! This time, it's two-for-one.

******DISCLAIMER: **I don't own anything you recognise. Really I don't.

* * *

******_XI: Insanity_**

**Characters/P****airings: **Turkey, Greece

**Genre: **Humour

**Rating: **K

**Warnings: **Human names used, overused meme being beaten to death.

Sadiq couldn't believe that that arrogant _whelp_ had beaten him. "This is insanity! This is madness!" he cried.

Heracles shook his head. "No… this. Is. _SPARTA__!_" he yelled as he kicked Sadiq in the ribs and ran off for some quiet time alone with his cats.

_A/N: Sparta would be Greece's right foot, in my headcanon. (What? If America's cowlick is Nantucket, can't Greece's right foot be Sparta?)_

* * *

******_XXXIV: Stars_**

**Characters/P****airings: **US/UK, mentions of Japan

**Genre: **Hurt/Comfort/Angst?

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Human names used, Alfred's potty mouth.

Alfred F. Jones looked to the stormy night sky over the island, and shuddered as the heavens opened up and the rain soaked him within minutes.

Christ, he hated this war – the endless fighting, how the islands were too damn hot in the day and too cold at night, how the fucking Japs burrowed into the island like a bunch of rabbits, never giving him or his boys a moments rest. God, he was tired…

His thoughts started drifting over to the opposite side of the world, over to England. He wondered how Arthur was doing over there, up against that stupid kraut. For all the grief he normally gave Arthur, he really hated being away from him for a long time.

And the war had being going on for a very, very long time.

Alfred eventually noticed the drone of planes passing overhead, as well as their blinking lights – he had no idea if they were his boys' or Kiku's, and he didn't really care. He decided to pretend the airplanes were shooting stars – after all, it wasn't like there were any out right at that moment anyway.

He kept watching them until they were out of sight, and then wished with every fiber of his being that _the war would be over soon, so he could go and see Arthur again_.

* * *

Idea for the last taken from B.O.B.'s "Airplanes". I don't own that, either.

Review, please!


	12. 75: Horror

**_XLV: Horror_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Poland, Lithuania, America, Russia. Mentions of Mexico and Belarus

**Genre: **Humour, Horror(?)

**Rating: **T...?

**Warnings: **Human names used, OC Mexico, Notapushover/Manipulative!Lithuania, Russia.

**DISCLAIMER: **Nope, still don't own it.

* * *

"I'm so sick of that stupid Ivan sneaking up on us, Liet! We've like, gotta do something!" Feliks complained loudly from the interior of his closet.

"And what am I supposed to do about it?" Toris asked, idly flipping through one of Feliks' magazines for lack of anything better to do. "It's not like _I_ can stop him. I don't even notice him until he's right next to me."

"I know… it's totally not awesome at all," Feliks sighed, flicking through tops. "If only we had some way to know that he was coming…" Feliks let out another dramatic sigh.

At this, Toris looked up. Feliks was standing in the doorway, dramatically posed so that the light would hit him in a way that would make the puppy dog pout on his face look even more pathetic.

"No. I don't know what you want, but the answer is already _no_." Toris protested.

"Oh, come on. How hard would it be to just, y'know, go up to Alfred and like, ask him to build a tracking device for Ivan? Totally wouldn't be hard at all. Come _on_, Liet… for me?" Feliks pouted.

Toris sighed in defeat. "Fine. I'll do it. But only because I want some peace of mind."

* * *

"Mr. Alfred? Are you down here?" Toris called out to a cluttered workroom. A blonde head poked its way out from under a very large machine and looked in his direction."

"Toris? What're you – ow!" Alfred cursed as he whacked his head on the underside of the machine while struggling to get out from under it. "What're you doing here, man?"

"Well, uh, Feliks and I were maybe wondering if you'd be willing to build a tracking device for Mr. Ivan? We – as well as Eduard and Raivis – well, we're a little paranoid, because he keeps sneaking up on us, making little comments about "_becoming one with him again"_, and, well, we're worried he –"

"Don't worry, Toris! I'll make sure that commie bastard doesn't get you again! I'll build you the best, most awesome tracking device _ever_, just you wait and see!"

The slap on the back he received from Alfred nearly pitched him into the half-finished frame of a one-man airplane. When he looked back up, Alfred was already running around, gathering the materials he thought he needed for the tracking device.

"I'll have it ready by the next meeting!" Alfred shouted at him as he walked out the workroom.

"That sounds great, Mr. Alfred. See you then!" Toris told him, giving a small wave of farewell.

As he walked out of Alfred's house, a slight smirk graced his face. He felt a little bad about the fact that he'd completely manipulated Alfred – the boy could never resist the challenge of keeping other countries under democratic regime, after all – but if it meant he'd get a little peace of mind from both Ivan and Feliks, it was completely worth it.

* * *

"C'mon! Open it, open it, open it!" Feliks demanded, bouncing up and down in excitement.

"Okay, okay, hang on one second…" Alfred sighed before tearing the tape off the box and pulling out the tracking device inside. "Ta da! Whaddya think?"

"…It totally looks like a cat collar," Feliks complained.

Toris mentally agreed, but knew better than to say anything out loud.

"It's not a cat collar! It's a high-tech tracking device!" Alfred objected, hurt.

"It, like, has a bell and everything. It's totally a really big cat collar."

"It is not!" Alfred protested, putting down the box and the device and stalking out of the room, obviously hurt.

"Thank you, Mr. Alfred!" Toris called out, then sighed. "So what if it is, Feliks? At least it'll let us know that Ivan's close."

"Yeah, I suppose. Seriously, though, you would think that _America_, of all people, could like, come up with something better than a glorified cat collar," Feliks sighed as he rolled his eyes.

"If it works, it works, no matter what it looks like, Feliks."

"I know… but really, did he have to make it so… _boring _looking? I mean, it would be totally amazing if we like, dyed it pink and –"

"_No_, Feliks. And don't even _think_ of bedazzling it."

* * *

"Mr. Ivan?" Toris questioned to the seemingly empty room. He knew he'd seen Ivan run in here, Natalya not far behind him, but now he was nowhere in sight. Suddenly, Toris was grabbed from behind, a gloved hand placed over his mouth.

"Do not scream. We do not want her finding us, _da, _Toris?" Ivan asked quietly. Toris shook his head. "Good! I knew you would agree with me on this." Ivan quietly dragged him back into a hidden closet, hopefully in the opposite direction of Natalya. "Now, what was it that you wanted?"

"W-well, I heard that you were having issues with Natalya again, so I – I had Mr. Alfred make you this," Toris stammered, holding out the tracking device. "It apparently emits some kind of signal that prevents her from getting near you. He wears one too, to keep Maria away from him."

Ivan pondered this for a moment before gently taking it from Toris. "So, it will keep her away?"  
"Ye-yes! Alfred swears by his. Maria apparently hasn't come near him in a month."

"… Help me put it on," Ivan ordered, holding it back out to Toris, who carefully took it. He then proceeded to cautiously unwrap his scarf, also holding it out for Toris to take. He did so, folding it with great care, before he put the collar on Ivan and handed the scarf back.

At last, he'd have some peace of mind. At long, long last.

* * *

_Ding!_

Feliks twitched violently. "Did you hear that?" he whispered in fear. "He's like, totally following us!"

_Ding!_

Another twitch from Feliks. "Yes, I heard it. How could I not?"

_Ding!_

"Oh, gawd, it's getting closer. Liet, you like, totally have to make him take it off! I'm gonna go crazy if you don't!" Feliks panicked, shaking Toris by the shoulders.

"Maybe we could just get him to remove the bell?"

_Ding!_

Feliks screamed as the power went out.

_Ding!_

* * *

**_A/N: _**... So, Russia's totally sitting somewhere, ringing the bell, and the vents are catching it and making everyone go crazy with paranoia, amirite? (I'd better be. Because it's my headcanon.)

Also, World meetings should never be held when intense storms are potentially happening in the area. Ever.

Please review!


	13. 3: Light

**_III_****_: Light_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Prussia, Germany

**Genre: **Humor

**Rating: **K+

**Warnings: **Mentions of swearing and alcohol. The rating's just to be safe.

**DISCLAIMER: **The only Hetalia related things I own are my Iggy keychain, my many, many fanarts, and my Russia cosplay. I also don't own Lord of the Rings.

* * *

"Gilbert?" Ludwig called downstairs into the basement. "You've been down there for three days. Are you ever coming back up?"

No response came up from the basement, except for the sounds of fake gunshots and a lot of swearing from Gilbert.

Ludwig treaded carefully down the stairs, attempting to avoid stepping on previously worn clothing and empty beer bottles (he'd come back later and pick them up, but for now they would remain where they were). The basement was pitch black, save for the scarce light emitting from the television. Gilbert was barely visible, his skin reflecting the light from the TV.

Ludwig turned on the lights, so as to prevent any injury to himself – however, Gilbert ran for darkness almost immediately, simultaneously emitting an unearthly shriek.

"Turn it off! Turn it off! It _burns_ us, it _burns! _Turn it off,_ now!_"

* * *

A/N: Yes, I am a firm believer in the BasementDweller!Prussia headcanon.

Review, please! The reads-to-reviews ratio is severely ill-proportioned, and it's mildly saddening.


	14. 78: Drink

**_LXXVII: Drink_**

**Characters/Pairings: **America, England (US/UK if you squint and tilt your head, though it's not meant to be)

**Genre: **Humour

**Rating: **K+ (or T)

**Warnings: **Hangovers. Mentions of alcohol.

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Hetalia OR Pirates of the Caribbean.

Also, underage drinking is bad, kiddies. Don't do it.

* * *

"Oh, _god_, my _head_," Alfred whimpered, shutting his eyes against the bright sunlight flooding in through the windows.

Arthur groaned as he looked down at the bottle of rum in his hand, making a small noise of disappointment when he saw that it was empty. "Why is the rum gone?" he asked mournfully.

"Prob'ly 'cause we drank it all," Alfred moaned, clutching his head. "Dude, I am _never_ watching _Pirates of the Caribbean_ with you _ever again_. Next time you wanna get nostalgic, call Spain or somethin'."

Arthur chortled, then moaned as the vibration reached his head. "Bugger _all_, that hurts!"

* * *

Please review!


	15. 94: Last Hope

**_CXIV: Last Hope_**

**Characters/Pairings: **America, England. US/UK if you squint.

**Genre: **Humour

**Rating: **K

**Warnings: **Human names used. A little bit of nerdery on my part.

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own either Hetalia OR Star Wars.  
I do, however, own my very own lightsaber. But I'm not giving it up, even if you decide to sue me.

* * *

"So, whaddja think, Iggy? Wasn't it awesome?" Alfred demanded as they left the theatre, bouncing up and down excitedly. Arthur looked over at him incredulously. Sure, the film had been good – far above what he'd expected of it, to be entirely honest (not that he'd admit it) – but Alfred's enthusiasm for the film was really quite excessive.

Then again, the boy never did things in halves.

"It was all right," he said off-handedly, shrugging.

"All right?" Alfred demanded, looking hurt. "All _right?_ Look, man, Star Wars is the best movie _ever_, no lie –"

"Oh, really? Better than all those John Wayne movies? Or that Disney crap you profess to love so much?"

"Wha – hey! You like Disney too, don't even lie to me. Seriously, though, this movie blows 'em all away. C'mon, your guys even worked on this one – you _gotta_ like it, Iggy!"

Arthur looked over at him witheringly. "It was reasonably good, Alfred. The soundtrack was a pleasant surprise, at the very least, and I _will_ admit the special effects were good. The plot was rather cheesy, though," He sighed, "I mean, _help me Obi-Wan Kenobi, you're my last hope_ – what kind of trite crap is that? Honestly."

"_Only_ hope, Iggy, it's "you're my _only_ hope". Get it right," Alfred griped.

"Well, sor-_ry_, Mister-I've-seen-this-movie-far-more-times-than-is-healthy, if I can't get the wording right after only having seen it once," Arthur snarked.

"I've only seen it eight times! There're guys who've been here every weekend since it opened!"  
"Oh, _only_ eight times. You know, most people would be satisfied with _once_."

"Like you're any different, with that one show about that weird doctor guy!" Alfred protested.

"_Excuse_ me?" Arthur sputtered. "_Doctor Who_ is a brilliant programme, and you're just jealous that you have nothing quite like it!" he shouted, stomping off towards Alfred's car.

"Well ex_cuse_ me, Princess," Alfred muttered, following Arthur and praying to whomever was listening that the British man wouldn't notice the bumper sticker proclaiming that his other car was the Millennium Falcon.

* * *

**NOTES: **_Star Wars_ first premiered on May 25, 1977, and stayed in the theatres for the rest of the year (unless I'm entirely mistaken. Wikipedia isn't clear on this). I see Alfred as a very, very big fan of this series, for several reasons, the number one being this: http :/ / en . wikipedia . org / wiki / Strategic_Defense_Initiative (remove the spaces to view).  
You can't make this stuff up.

_Doctor Who _originally ran from 1963 to 1989, and enjoyed massive success in the UK. Arthur is a huge fan, and remains so to this day.

Arthur has never quite forgiven Alfred for Disney's interpretation of _Peter Pan._ In all honesty, Alfred's never really forgiven _himself_.  
There's not one country in Europe - actually, maybe in the _world -_ that hasn't wanted to kill him at some point for at least one of the Disney movies.

Review, please!


	16. 86: Seeing Red

**_LXXXVI: Seeing Red_**

**Characters/Pairings: **America, Russia. Mentions of Prussia, Hungary, Finland, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, and Poland.

**Genre: **Angst

**Rating: **T+ (M?)

**Warnings: **Language. Cold War. Language. Something of a stream-of-conciousness writing style. Did I mention Language? Because there's a lot of it.

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Hetalia. It would _not_ be the happy, awesome place it is if I had control of it. Be glad I don't.

* * *

Red phone. Red flags. Red buttons. Red red red.

This "Cold War" – it sure as hell doesn't _feel_ cold to him, it feels like it's burning quietly under the surface if anything – this subliminal Communist mindfuck, whatever the hell this is, has him seeing red everywhere, in more ways than one.

He remembered the days before the world started going red – back when the world was a simpler place, at least for him. Back when Ivan was sane, and he – well, wasn't, to say the least.

_The days of Imperialist Russia are long over, Камрад_,Ivan had said to him once. _The way of the people is the only way now… if you would just become one with me, you would understand, Да?_

Alfred had refused, disgusted – _better dead than Red_, he'd snarled. He'd avoided working with the bastard ever since then, and especially after he'd ducked behind that fucking Iron Curtain of his, taking nation after nation with him. Prussia had actually been dragged forcibly away from his brother, literally kicking and screaming – his cries still haunted Alfred's nightmares from time to time; Hungary and Finland hadn't gone quietly either. He'd watched Ivan recollect Estonia, Latvia, Poland and Toris – oh, god, _Toris. _Sweet, caring, Toris who was really such a spitfire and oh _God_.

It hurt him so much to think of what that fucking _bastard_ was doing to them behind that wall.

This is why he continued to fight, however quietly and sneakily he had to do it, against that commie asshole.

The world wouldn't look good in red, anyway.

* * *

**NOTES: **

_Back when Ivan was sane, and he – well, wasn't, to say the least - _This would be during the Civil War. France and England were threatening to help out the Confederate states, so Russia promised aid to the Union in the form of ships and artillery. Go google it, if you want more info.

Alfred has a somewhat irrational fear of Communism. This dates back to about 1920 - incidentally, the same time that Russia _fell_ to communism.

There's other mentions of historical things, most of them involving the wall and the Cold War. Just... just go google the thing, okay? Wikipedia it or something. I'm not really up to explaining it.

**RUSSIAN:**

Камрад - Comrade

Да - Yes

Review, please!


	17. 29: Happiness 86:Through the Flames

Hey, look, another two-for-one bonus!

On today's menu: 29 - Happiness and 86 - Through the Flames

... these are not happy ficlets, guys. I'm warning you now.

**DISCLAIMER: **Be GLAD I don't own Hetalia.

I also don't own The Beatles, though I do recommend listening to their song _Happiness is a Warm Gun_, as done by Joe Anderson in _Across the Universe_.

**__****_

* * *

_**

**__******XXIX: Happiness

**Characters/Pairings: **America

**Genre: **Angst. Horror?

**Rating: **T+

**Warnings: **Mentions of Drug abuse, language, and The Vietnam War - this implies nasty things. Dead things. Disturbing things.

_I need a fix, 'cause I'm goin' down…_

He's watched his boys burn the forests down, watched them mow down rows of people. Seen the effects of Agent Orange on both the jungle and the human populace. Felt the terror of a surprise attack, the aching loss of a team; the horror of seeing his boys get blown up so bad the only way anybody could identify them was their tags – and sometimes not even that.

_Lying wide awake while his hands are busy working overtime…_

He fears he'll go back the same way they did – FUBAR. Scarred both internally and externally.

The only thing keeping him somewhat sane was knowing that those damn commies couldn't get him if he got them first. Because happiness is a warm gun.

_Bang bang, shoot shoot_

* * *

**_LXXXIX: Through the Fire_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Japan, America, mentions of OC!Hawaii

**Genre: **Angst

**Rating: **T (just to be safe)

**Warnings: **End of WWII - yes, that means the A-Bombs. Potentially inaccurate history.

_August, 1945_

Kiku is burning.

It is his punishment, he supposes, for trespassing in Kami-sama's realm. For playing god with sweet little Hawaii-chan, for hurting one of America-san's little girls.

Through the flames, Kiku sees America-san's face – apologetic, because he didn't know exactly how much damage his "Little Boy" and "Fat Man" would do to Kiku, but at the same time not in the least bit sorry.

_You deserved it,_ his eyes seem to say.

Kiku can't help but agree with him.

* * *

**A/N:**

_**29: **FUBAR_ - Fucked Up Beyond All Recognition. I believe this originated during the Vietnam War, though I can't be certain.

_Agent Orange -_ An Herbicide widely used during the Vietnam War. It effectively burned entire jungles down, and has had some very, _very_ nasty effects on people - cancer, deformities in children of Vietnamese people and veterans, etc.

If you want more information about said war, _please_ look it up. I... I can't do it justice here. At all. Nor am I going to try.

The lyrics, as I mentioned before, are taken from the Beatles song, _Happiness is a Warm Gun_, about this very same subject. If you didn't initially listen to the version I suggested, I recommend that highly. Or just watch the whole movie, it's up to you.

_**86: **_

_August, 1945 - _"Little Boy" was dropped on Hiroshima on August 6, 1945; "Fat Boy" was dropped on Nagasaki on August 9, 1945. The Japanese surrendered completely on August 15, 1945.  
... Japan wouldn't be doing too well after all this, and I imagine that he, as a person, would feel terrible after what he did. He might not have felt terrible initially _doing_ it, but afterward...

_Playing God... with Hawaii: _Referencing the attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941.

Now, before you freak out on me about Hawaii, let me explain.

It's my personal belief that the states were found, not born through... various means, or whatever. Some of them were "bought" from other people - France, Spain, and Russia come to mind - while others he won from wars (see: Texas, New Mexico), and... yeah.  
Alfred has kind-of (unofficially) adopted all of the states/territories/whatever-else-their-is, but he lets them do their own thing, for the most part. If somebody messes with one of his "little girls"... it doesn't end well. For anyone. He is the Overprotective Daddy to the _extreme_.

... _why_ are my notes longer than the acutal drabbles. _WHY._

Please review! It would make me feel a lot better, and a lot less angsty.


	18. 81: Pen and Paper

**_LXXXI: Pen and Paper_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Romano, Spain (sort of)

**Genre: **Angst/Romance - wow. There's a combo.

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Lovi being Lovi. By which I mean, swearing.

Okay, so some explanation is going to be needed for this one, because FFN decided to eat my editing.

_Italics_ means that it's normal writing.

_**Bold Italics **_is emphasis.

_Underlined Italics _is (what is supposed to be) crossouts.

**DISCLAIMER: **I still don't own it. I can only squeal over the amazingness that is "Flying Mint Bunny".

* * *

_Stupid Boss_

_Tomato Bastard_

_Antonio,_

_I don't even know why I'm bothering to write this – I sure as hell don't plan on sending it to you._

_I don't know… maybe I'm looking for something to take out my frustration on, and faking a letter to you is better than shooting at those fucking Allies…? I don't even know anymore._

_I'm so fucking tired, Antonio. So fucking tired of **everything**. The fighting, the stupid potato bastard, not seeing you, having no time to do anything I want, all the work, not being able to eat tomatoes with you. _

_I'm just so damn tired…_

_Is this what is was like for you, back then? Back when you ruled the world? The endless fighting, wounds that won't heal both inside and out?_

_I envy you, with your ability to hide everything behind that stupid grin. You, my brother, even that fucking wine-bastard – you're all lucky as hell you can do that. I really fucking hate you for it sometimes, you know that?_

_I miss you, Antonio. You, your stupid grin, your tomatoes, your hugs, just – everything. I miss you so fucking much it actually **hurts** sometimes, you stupid, stupid, fucking oblivious **bastard.**_

_If I ever get out of this shithole, I swear I'll tell you myself._

_Lovino Vargas_

* * *

AN: Uh, yeah. Not terrifically happy with FFN for eating my editing.

Someday I'm writing this out in an acutal letter format, then taking pictures of it. I'll link you guys on my profile if I ever decide to do so.

Review, please!


	19. 45: Illusion

**_XLV: Illusion_**

**Characters/Pairings:** Canada, France, Kumajirou. One-sided Franada?

**Genre: **Crack? Romance?

**Rating: **T, just to be safe

**Warnings: **Human!Kumajirou, Human names used, France in David Bowie getup.

**DISCLAIMER: **I own neither Hetalia nor The Labyrinth. I thank IMDB liberally for my abuse of their quotes section of their Labyrinth information.

* * *

_Once upon a time, there was a beautiful young boy whose stepmother always made her stay home with the baby. And the baby was a spoiled child, and wanted everything to himself, and the young boy was practically a slave. _

_But what no one knew is that the king of the goblins had fallen in love with the boy, and he had given the boy certain powers. So one night, when the baby had been particularly cruel to him, he called on the goblins for help!  
_"Say the right words,"_ the goblins said, _"and we'll take the baby to the castle, and you will be free!"_ But the boy knew that the Goblin King would keep the baby in his castle for ever and ever and ever, and turn it into a goblin! And so the boy suffered in silence, until one day, when he was tired from a day of housework, and he was hurt by the harsh words of his stepmother, and he could no longer stand it..._

"Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be, I wish you'd take Kuma away from me!"

Matt was never making another wish out loud ever again. If he'd known that some French weirdo with _way_ too tight of pants was actually going to take Kumajirou away when he'd made the wish, he would never have said anything.

_"You're him, aren't you? You're the Goblin King!" Matthew cried._

_"_Oui_, I am. And what is it to you?" Francis asked lazily, absentmindedly twirling a set of crystal balls in his hand._

_"I want my brother back, please, if it's all the same."  
"What's said is said, _mon chou_. You cannot have him back."  
"But, I didn't mean it!" Matthew yelled.  
"Oh, you didn't?"_

_"No!"_

_"Well, I suppose I can oblige… you have thirteen hours in which to solve the labyrinth,_mon cher_,__ before your baby brother becomes one of us... forever."_

So far, he'd been dropped down tunnels, forced to choose between doors, been twisted round and round until he felt like he was already half-mad for trying to get to the castle, and fought off bizarre creatures who could detach their heads. He was tired, and dizzy, and if his parents wouldn't kill him for giving up his brother to the crazy goblin king - well, he'd obviously make up something relatively believable, or they'd lock him away and _then_ kill him - he would just give up and go home.

Unfortunately, he had no such luxury available to him – not unless he wanted his brother to stay here, forever, and become a friggin' goblin.

So he kept running.

Kumajirou gurgled happily as Francis gently bounced him up and down.

"In nine hours and twenty-three minutes, _cher_, you will be mine," he told the baby, grinning evilly.

Kumajirou blew a spit bubble at him in response.

He was at a masquerade, wearing the finest clothes he'd ever seen. Everyone else was looking at him like he was something special, someone who was worth watching, as he danced with the king. It went on for what felt like hours, until a little voice in the back of his mind started shouting at him.

_Wake up, Matthew! This isn't real! WAKE UP!_

As he struggled to break free, the dream shattered into a million pieces, leaving him dazed, and with 2 hours left to solve the labyrinth.

Shit.

"So, tell me, _Matthieu_, what do you think of my labyrinth?"  
"It sucks. And I want my brother back, you hoser!"

"Beware, _Matthieu_. I have been generous up 'til now. I can be cruel."

"Generous? What the hell have you done that's generous?" Matthew yelled.

"Everything! Everything that you wanted I have done. You asked that the child be taken. I took him. You cowered before me, I was frightening. I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you! I am exhausted from living up to your expectations of me. Is that not generous?"

"But I didn't ask you to do any of that! Now give me my brother back!"

"And why should I? I am tired of your whims."

"Because…" Matthew sighed, trying to recall the exact lines. "Through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, I have fought my way here to the castle beyond the Goblin City to take back the child that you have stolen. For my will is as strong as yours, my kingdom is as great... and you have no power over me."

"So be it, _mon cher_. Adieu."

The last thing he saw before the world started swirling around him was Francis.

* * *

AN: Crap writing is crap, and I apologise for it. I really had no idea how to paraphrase the movie, especially since I haven't seen it in a long, long while.

Review, please, even if it's to tell me you hate me forever and ever and ever for putting the image of Goblin King!France in your head... because you know you can't unsee it.


	20. 70: SixtySeven Percent

**_LXX: 67%_**

**Characters/Pairings:** America, Sort-of England, Sort-of Tony

**Genre: **Humor

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Language

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Hetalia or the Sims. I don't even own _copies_ of either.

* * *

Alfred hummed happily to himself as he put the disc in the drive. It was always a good day when he got a new video game – even better when it was a Sims expansion pack. He was really excited about this one, though - _The Sims: Makin' Magic._

He could finally give his Iggy sim the magical powers his real-life counterpart claimed, and maybe even a unicorn if he felt like it. And he could _finally_ add Tony in – as a _real alien_.

It made him squeal like the fanboy he was just _thinking_ about it.

Once the disc was safely loading, he got up to make himself some ramen, hoping it would be done by the time he got back.

He had no such luck. It was currently loading some part of the sound, with 19% of them completely loaded.

Oh well. There were still a couple of things he could do while he waited for it to load…

_Five Hours Later_

67%. Sixty-fucking-seven percent and it was _stuck_.

He'd done all the things he'd wanted to put off until he'd gotten the new game started – the tune up of his '67 Mustang, the cleaning out of his fridge (which he should've done way, _way_ sooner), cleaning up the ever-growing pile of video games surrounding his TV…

_And it was stuck at 67%._

* * *

A/N: ...review? Feed my poor, starving writer's soul?


	21. 52: Deep in Thought 33: Expectations

Another two-for-one bonus, each featuring one of the Italies.

... I apologise in advance for the crap writing. I wrote both of these whilst mildly blocked.

Both are K (shocking, I know). Only warnings are somewhat depressing, crap writing, and use of "Human Names". A little (and I do mean little) hint of Mafia!Romano in the second.

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Hetalia. I am making no money off this - the only profit I'm getting is your reviews, however sparse they may be.**

* * *

**_LII__: Deep in Thought_**

********

Characters/Pairings:

Italy, mentions of Holy Roman Empire and Germany

****

Genre:

Angst? Romance? Ugh. There's no good category for this.

Feliciano stares out the window, uncharacteristically quiet for once.

It's around this time of year – the season where Holy Roman Empire left and never came back, all those years ago – that he starts to get reflective.

He wonders what his first love would think of him now, finally allied with his – replacement? Reincarnation? Whatever Germany was to the Holy Roman Empire.

He wonders for what seems like the millionth time if Ludwig was actually Holy Roman Empire, without any memories of being so. The two were so much alike it was scary sometimes.

Maybe he was just being stupid, thinking that Ludwig could possibly be his childhood love.

It couldn't hurt to dream, though, could it?

* * *

**_XXXIII: Expectations_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Romano, mentions of Italy, Spain, and Germany

**Genre: **General. I don't know where the hell this goes.

There were certain things that Lovino had come to expect on a day-to-day basis – a shot of espresso (or five) when he got up in the morning, followed by breakfast over the paperwork Feliciano forgot to do. If he had time, he'd get some drawing done; if not, lunch followed that, which was usually interrupted by a combination of Feliciano, Feliciano and the stupid potato bastard, or Stupid Boss Spain. His siesta was promptly at three, and lasted until 4:30 (most of the time), with absolutely _no interruptions. Ever._

He anticipated for there to always be a large supply of pasta in the cupboards, and that there would always be a fresh supply of tomatoes readily available for his consumption.

There were things Lovino expected to have, and if those things weren't around, somebody was gonna get themselves shot.

**

* * *

**

**A/N: **Please review! They feed what's left of my soul.


	22. 62: Magic

******_LXII: Magic_**

Hey, look! I'm alive!

Please enjoy.

**Characters/Pairings: **America, England, mentions of a few state-tans (who I explain later). US/UK.

**Genre:** Romance. (How is "Fluff" still not a genre?)

**Rating: **T

**Warnings: **Do I even have to warn for Human Names anymore? I don't think I do...  
Language. Fluff. Possible mood whiplash.

**DISCLAIMER:** I STILL DON'T OWN HETALIA. Seriously. Don't sue.

* * *

The silence of the woods was abruptly broken by heavily accented swearing as Alfred opened the door to the passenger side of his car and pulled Arthur out. The Briton struggled against him, cursing vehemently. "What the bloody fuck possessed you into thinking that you kidnapping me, and then hauling me off into the middle of fucking nowhere was a good idea, you git? Where the fuck are we – and _would you kindly let the fuck go of my hand?_" he demanded, struggling against the death grip Alfred had on his hand.

"Luke's house is not the _middle of fucking nowhere_," Alfred corrected, rolling his eyes and sighing, continuing to drag Arthur along behind him towards a thin trail peeking out of the woods. "That's like, Rob's house, or maybe Carrie's, or something. Luke's house is like, on the edge of nowhere."

"Oh, well, ex_cuse_ me for not knowing the difference between your precious states," Arthur hissed venomously, still struggling in vain behind Alfred. "Would you let go of me now?"

"You're excused. And no, I won't – I'm not taking the risk of you getting lost in the woods. Now _shush,_ or you're gonna scare 'em all off."

"Scare _what_ off?" Arthur demanded furiously.

"You'll see! Now _shush_," Alfred ordered, continuing to pull Arthur down the trail, which quickly became steep and winding.

The two of them walked in silence, Alfred still not letting go of Arthur's hand, until they came upon a wide, meadow-filled clearing.

"If you dragged me out here to reenact that god-forsaken movie that your teenage girls are so bloody obsessed with, so help me, Alfred, I swear I will –" Arthur snarled furiously, at last succeeding in ripping his hand away from Alfred's.

"Dude, I said we were at _Luke's_ house. Not Izzy's or Mark's. And even if I _were_ to reenact Twilight with you, it'd have to be during the day, which it's not," Alfred said, clearing adding a silent _duh_ to the end of his sentence. "Now seriously, _shut up,_ or you're gonna scare 'em all off, which would totally ruin the whole point of bringing you out here," he reprimanded in a whisper just as Arthur noticed a small, gently flashing light pass him out of the corner of his eye, followed by several more. The Briton's eyes widened as he realised what the lights were.

_"Fairies,"_ he breathed, shocked at their presence.

"No, they're _fireflies_," Alfred corrected quietly, rolling his eyes at the thought of "Iggy and his imaginary friends", even as they entered the clearing in masses. "Luke said you'd like this, an' I had to agree. It's a different sort of magic, y'know? Not that pretend stuff that you believe in."

"It's not pretend!" Arthur hissed before he could stop himself, mentally chastising himself for doing so. "But he was right – this is… this is brilliant," he said quietly, letting a small grin alight his face as he watched the fae begin to dance around the two of them.

"I'm glad you think so," Alfred murmured, quickly closing the distance between the two of them and gently pressing his lips against Arthur's, which caused the Brit to sharply inhale as his senses went into overdrive.

It seemed that Luke was right – these fae were the source of a different sort of magic, after all.

* * *

**A/N: **Luke (Lukas Knutson) is Minnesota, Rob (Robert Duncan) is Nebraska, and Carrie (Carrie Archer) is Oklahoma.

No offense is meant to people who actually live in either Nebraska or Oklahoma.

Yes, Minnesota can see the Fae. With a high concentration of people with either Norwegian or British ancestry (or, in my case, _both_), it was only natural to make him have this ability. He's not the only state who can see them, either – Wisconsin, as well as North and South Dakota all can as well, though Minnesota's is the strongest out of the lot of them.

Please review! I'll take anything you throw at me… except for flames, or rotten tomatoes and the like.


	23. 68: Hero

_**LXVIII: Hero**_

**Characters/Pairings: **America, Poland. Ancient Nations, though unnamed as such.

**Genre: **Uh... Action/Adventure?

**Rating: **K+

**Warnings: **The Authoress channeling her inner six/ten-year-old and/or watching too much of "The Incredibles". Alternate Universe. A teeny little bit of language.

**DISCLAIMER: **Seriously? I think you guys get it by now. HETALIA ISN'T MINE. Nor is anything else I make a reference to, however obscure.

* * *

Alfred Frederick Jones II was much like any other child his age – which was _six-and-a-half_, thank you very much – he was energetic, a little ADHD, and very, very bright.

He wanted to be a million different things "when he got bigger" – not when he grew up, 'cause he would _never_ grow up, just like Peter Pan – he wanted to be a firefighter, a police man, a lawyer, a truck driver, a racecar driver, a veterinarian.

But what he wanted to be, more than _anything_ else in the _whole wide world_, was a superhero, just like Air Liberator and Arcmage and Britannia Angel and Lieutenant Savage and Cosmic Centurion, 'cause they were the _best,_ most awesomest super heroes _ever_. And he was gonna be just like 'em, just you wait and see.

_Four Years Later in __Danville__, __USA_

"Al? Alfred, where are you?" Grace called out as she searched the house for her son.

"I'm out here, Mom," Alfred yelled from outside. Grace sighed, walking through the living room and looking out the back door, only to see him sitting 30 feet up in the oak tree in their backyard.

"Alfred Frederick Jones, what the he-_heck_ are you doing up there? Get down this instant!" she cried, running underneath the tree.

"But, _Mom _–"

"But _Mom,_ nothin'! You get down from that tree right now! You'll fall and break something, and I am _not _paying for the ambulance to take you down to the emergency room again!"

"I'm not gonna fall and break somethin', Mom," Al protested, swinging his legs.

"You will, and then you're gonna have to wait until your daddy gets home and I can take you to the emergency room! Now _get down_," she demanded.

"But, _Mom, _I'm practicing to be a superhero! Everybody knows that superheroes don't fall! Look, I'll show you –" he said, slipping off the branch.

"Alfred, _don't!_" Grace screamed, shutting her eyes, expecting to hear the sickening crunch of breaking bones at any moment. She peeked one eye open, expecting to see her son lying on the ground, holding his tears in. Instead, she saw Al standing in front of her, looking concernedly up at her.

When he saw that she had cracked an eye open, he pouted. "_Mom_~, you weren't watching! You gotta watch me!"

She opened both eyes, surprised that Al was okay. "Al – _how_ did you –"

"That's why you gotta watch, Mom! Promise me you'll watch this time," he begged as he started climbing back up the tree.

"Al –" she protested, moving closer under the tree.

"_Promise_!" he demanded, looking down at her from about 10 feet up.

"Promise you won't go as high this time, then?"  
"_Fine_," he sighed, sitting on a branch. "But don't close your eyes this time! Not even a little bit! Promise me you won't!"

"I won't!" She promised, shielding her eyes against the sun. Alfred climbed a little higher, and then jumped off the branch. Grace gasped as she watched her son fall through the air, then as he started flying like the air was no more than water, giggling madly.

"See! I _told _you, Mom!" he bragged, promptly running into another tree and falling to the ground with a _thud_.

"No, I told _you_, Al."

_Nine Years Later in __Gogh City__, __USA_

"Can I look _now?_" Al begged, squeezing his eyes shut as tightly as he could.

"Not… quite… yet…" Feliks said through a mouthful of pins. After a few minutes of removing the rest of the pins, he set them down on the desk next to him. "Okay, now…_ open!_"

Al obeyed, his eyes widening as he took in his new costume. The top was blue, with red and white stripes running the length of the arms, which were also encased in mid-arm length red gloves. His new logo – two F's made of silver stars – proudly sat in the middle of his chest, shining brightly in even the soft lights emitting from the ceiling. He had a red and white utility belt strapped around his waist – and just how the _hell_ had Feliks got that on without him noticing? – followed by dark blue pants, finished off by red and white boots that came up to his knees.

"It's… this is…" he sputtered, for once at a complete loss for words.

"Totally amazing? I know," the designer gloated. "I must say, it's, like, totally some of my best work _ever_. But then, I think _every _piece I do is my best work ever."

"And are you wrong?" Al asked, giving the designer a huge grin.

"Of course not!" Feliks gasped. "I'm never wrong about these things. It still looks like it's missing something, though," he mused, tapping his chin with a sparkly pink fingernail.

Al gave the costume another look-over. It all looked pretty heroic – if not a little tighter than he'd like – but it _was_ missing something. "What about a cape?"

Feliks stared at him, flabbergasted. "You're like, totally joking, right? I don't do capes. No capes!"

"Tyr and Aquaglory both have one! And I _know_ you designed both of their costumes, don't even lie to me," Al whined.

"Tyr and Aquaglory can't _fly, _dahling. Do you know how many fatalities are caused by flight-enabled heroes who wear capes? 16 deaths _each year_. All because their designer decides that their costume needs a cape!"

"_Fine_," Al sighed. "No cape. Even though it would be totally awesome."

"Not with your powers, dahling. Do you really want to get sucked into a jet turbine?" Feliks asked as he ruffled through the layers of fabric on the desk.

"No…" Al mumbled.

"Didn't think so. A-ha! I found it!" the designer exclaimed, pulling out a small length of fabric. "Here, put this on," he ordered, handing it over to Al.

It was a simple blue mask, the outside lined with small white stars, and an additional two large stars on the very edge. He did as Feliks told him to, placing the mask onto his face. He was a little surprised when it stayed there, as it had no way of attaching to anything else, and even more surprised when it moved with his face, allowing for full vision. As he looked into the mirror, he grinned.

Freedom Fighter was ready for business.

* * *

**A/N: **Confused? I apologise. Here's some clarification (I hope).

Supers refer to anyone with powers. Mundanes refer to anyone without. The two generally don't cross, with the exception of people like Feliks.

Here's your (basic) guide to the Supers - the ones that are Alfred's heroes, anyway.

Air Liberator: Mama Iberia (Ancient Spain/Portugal)  
Arcmage: Papa!Saxony (Ancient Saxons of Britain)  
Britannia Angel: Mama!Celtics (Ancient Celts of Britain)  
Lieutenant Savage: Germania  
Cosmic Centurion: Roma Antiqua

Am I continuing this? Yes, yes I am (Am I done making _Phineas and Ferb _references? No, no I'm not). The final version will include all that you see here, plus Fem!England and... like, everybody else. With mild genderbending, because I can't resist.  
_Suggestions for a name for said fic would be very welcome! *hint, hint*_  
And, um, yes, the main ship will be US/UK. It's my one of my OTP's, okay? /

Thanks to **StardustRudie**, who has literally reviewed EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER. *gives love and cookies*


	24. 32: Night 17: Blood

Hey, look! I'm back!

**Characters/Pairings: **32 - France, no pairings. 17 - Prussia, no pairings.

**Genre: **32 - General-ish. 17 - Horror.

**Rating: **32 - T. 17 - M.

**Warnings: **32 - France, drug/alcohol abuse, sort-of-mentions of prostitutes (if you look sideways), the _Moulin Rouge_, possibly bad French.  
17 - Disturbing qualities equal to (if not surpassing) number 47 of this challenge. Prussia being a _huge_ jackass, mistreatment/animalization of humans, war, blood. Did I mention the dark, twisty, _sheer disturbingness _of it?

If any of this offends you, _please_ skip them.

**DISCLAIMER: **Do I seriously need to put one of these anymore?

**_

* * *

_**

**_XXXII: Night_**

Night time, mothers claim, is when all the nasty things come out to do their business – witches, warlocks, thieves and the like have no use for daylight, after all.

Francis, however, knows better – the night is for the revolution, for _l'amour_. It is filled with magic of a different sort – a little green fairy, Poppies, beautiful women, and a little red windmill.

_Viva la Revolution!_ His people cry. _Viva la __France__! __Liberté,__verité,__beauté, et l'amour!_

Francis grins at one of the girls on the street, beckoning her towards him with a single gloved finger.

_Viva la France_, indeed.

* * *

**_XVII: Blood_**

His sword slashed across the human's chest, cutting through its uniform and into its stomach. It gave out a scream, dropping its weapon, clutching its wound as it fell to the ground with an agonised cry. He stepped over the pathetic thing, looking over the enemy casually as a wide, cocky smirk spread over his face.

_Fools_, all of them. Incapable of keeping themselves alive while fighting other _humans_. It was all pathetic - their weak struggles, their attempts at war… everything about them, really. Only Nations knew how to fight properly, how to really start wars – and he was the best at it. He turned war into an art form; the gunshots and anguished screams of the dying were his symphonies, the battlefields his canvases. His sword was his paintbrush; the blood of the humans and animals mixed together for his paint.

A group of the enemy's soldiers stormed towards him, weapons glinting in the sunlight. He roared a battle-cry and charged towards them, his boots pounding into the ground and his sword flashing in a silver blur as he gained ground and got closer to them.

_He needed more paint._

* * *

_Translations for 32: _

_Viva la Revolution/France: _Long Live the Revolution/France  
___Liberté,__verité,__beauté, et l'amour: _Freedom, truth, beauty, and love  
(yes, Moulin Rouge is a _very _bad influence on me. Now shush.)

Review, please!


	25. 54: Tower

**Characters/Pairings: **America, OC!New York

**Genre: **... General? Angst? I don't even know.

**Rating: **K, but contains some ideologically sensitive material

**Warnings: **OC!New York, authoress expressing her opinions, 20 minute writing crap. 9-11.

**DISCLAIMER: **Do I *really* have to include this? Really?

* * *

**_LIV: Tower_**

Nine Years.

Nine years since the World Trade Center had fallen, leaving New York with two gaping holes in its skyline; Anthony with twin scars on his right leg, and Alfred with the same over his heart.

Almost nine years since the "war on Terrorism" began.

And now they wanted to build an Islamic community center, not three blocks from Ground Zero.

Alfred rubbed at his scars, always a little sore on the anniversary. He didn't really know about anyone else - well, he did, but that wasn't the point – but building a "community center", _especially_ one for Muslims, just a few blocks from the only attack on American soil in –what was then – almost 60 years seemed a little… _disrespectful_.

It wasn't up to him, though. It was up to the city, the people – _Tony's_ people, whether or not the thing was built.

It was nine years today.

* * *

**A/N: **Unless you're living under a rock (or somewhere that's _not_ the US) you've heard about the Islamic Community Center (commonly being called a mosque) that is _possibly_ being built 3 blocks from Ground Zero. Most of the nation has come back with some pretty harsh feedback - basically saying that it would be like building a monument to the KKK down in Alabama, or something (This is not a overly-harsh comparison, by the way - Islamic Extremists are to Islam as the KKK is to Christianity. Don't even try to convince me otherwise). I'm not saying that all Muslims are terrorists, but that _is_ almost what automatically jumps to mind, at least as a Minnesotan.

Personally, I feel like that building it _that_ close to Ground Zero is a little disrespectful, and a whole _lot_ stupid. The thing is going to be made of glass and steel - are they _trying_ to get it destroyed? Really?  
Now, I'm not saying that Muslims have no right to build there - they _do_ have a right, by the First Amendment, to build there... it just seems like a waste of money, because that thing is _going_ to be destroyed by somebody who doesn't want them there.

Okay, I'm done covering my ass, at least for this piece. Just remember, kids: Everyone's a Little Bit Racist.

_60 Years since the last attack on American Soil_ - refers to the Attack on Pearl Harbor, which took place on December 7th, 1942.

Anthony/Tony (Anthony O'Malley) is New York. NOT Tony the Alien.  
New York is what I personally consider to be Alfred's heart - not DC, even though it's a pretty common headcanon.

That's all. Review, please! Just... no flames or personal attacks, please.


	26. 27: Foreign

Here, have some more 100 themes!

Yeah, I don't know why it is that I write better/more when school is in session, either.

**_XXVII: Foreign_**

**Characters/Pairings: **Canada, America, mentions of Australia.

**Genre: **Humour

**Rating: **T for the North America bro's mouths.

**Warnings: **Some language. Mentions of "Southern Cuisine". Also Vegemite. And Moose. Also, bad Bromance (rah rah ah-ah-ah!)

**DISCLAIMER: **Nope, still don't own it. My mom won't even let me get Volume 1 when it comes out... D=

* * *

Matt stared at his plate in abject horror. "Al, what the _fuck_ –_"_

"'s a 'gator burger," Al said through a mouthful of his own burger. "'s good."

"You have _got_ to be shitting me."

"Nah, they're good! Bruce loves 'em."

"Yeah, well, Bruce also loves vegemite. And he eats scorpions and snakes. So, really, he's completely trustworthy when it comes to food, eh?" Matt deadpanned, staring at his brother with utmost contempt.

"Dude, it's _good_. Tastes just like chicken. Just eat it," Al said, starting on a second burger.

"No way, man. Francis said the _exact same thing_ about escargot, and it _so_ didn't taste like chicken. At all. I'm not eating that thing."

"Pansy."

"Says the man who won't eat moose."

"Dude, that's just _weird_."

"You're eating an alligator, and you think _moose_ is weird?"

"It _is_ weird. Nobody but like, you and Finland eats it. And everybody knows that his food is downright _strange_. Which totally proves my point."

"It is _not_ weird – not any weirder than you eating deer. Or buffalo –"

"Buffalo is _not_ weird, it's awesome! It tastes almost exactly like beef –"

"Or possum, or squirrel, or – "

"_We are not bringing the South's food into this_–"

"We're in _Florida_, Al. Last I checked, that was in the South."

"… Shut up and eat the damn burger, Matt."

"_No_. It's just _weird_."

* * *

Review please!


	27. 56: Danger Ahead p1

_**LVI: Danger Ahead**_

My apologies for the unexpected hiatus, everybody. Life happened.

So, uh, here's the longest thing I've written yet _(and I'm still not done with it),_ to make up for it.

**Characters/Pairings: **England, Little!Fem!America, Little!Fem!Canada. Mentions of an OC.

**Genre: **Science Fiction/Adventure

**Rating: **K+

**Warnings: **Doctor Who crossover.

**DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN EITHER HETALIA OR DOCTOR WHO. Or Sonic the Hedgehog, but I don't really want him.  
**

**

* * *

**

A whirl of flashing colours and sounds flooded the TARDIS, the loudest of which came from the man dancing around the control panel.

"_Damn_ it! Why won't you fucking work, you stupid machine?" he cursed, fiddling with a few dials before running to another section of panel. As he did, a bright red light started flashing, and a loud, repetitive beep sounded.

"Alright, alright, I'm sorry I called you stupid! Now _stop_ that!"

Amelia sobbed as she ran through the woods, her tears blurring her vision. She had to keep running, had to find help, had to get _away_ –

*x*x*x*x*x*x*

A weird siren-y sound, followed by a loud crack, rang out through the woods. Amelia froze, then ducked behind some bushes.

_Please don't be the monster, _she prayed silently. 'Cause if the monster was here, that meant that Maddie was – she was – _dead_.

A new wave of tears overwhelmed Amelia. Maddie was dead, and it was all her fault. She should've listened to Mommy when she said the woods were dangerous, but she still dragged Maddie in with her anyway. The woods had monster in them, and it was the hero's job to protect everyone from the monsters! That meant it was _her_ job, and since Maddie was her sidekick, it was her job too. Except now –

A door slammed open nearby, the woods filling with smoke and the sounds of a man coughing and swearing.

Amelia took a deep breath and wiped her eyes, peering through the bushes. A big blue box, with a flashing light on top stood next to (and on top of) a cluster of trees, the doors wide open and smoke billowing out of them. A man – tall, pale, with really big eyebrows and the greenest eyes she'd ever seen – leaned against the box, coughing hard and saying words to the box that Amelia would have had her mouth washed out with soap for using.

The box had words on top of it. Amelia struggled to make them out – Maddie was the better reader, Amelia had _just_ memorised the alphabet and started putting words together.

That was a "P"… then an "o"… "l"… "i"… "c"… "e"…

"Po…lee…say?" she whispered to herself, trying to figure it out. No, wait! _Police!_ The funny man who said bad words was a policeman! That meant he was a hero! He could help save Maddie from the monster!

"Excuse me! Mister Policeman! I need help!" she yelled, fighting her way out of the bushes and running towards the man.

*x*x*x*x*x*x*

The Doctor paused in his berating of the TARDIS when he heard the shouting. Up to this point, he thought he crashed in the middle of fucking nowhere.

A tousled-haired blonde human child was running towards him, wearing a strange combination of cowboy boots, pink, white and blue striped tights, a bright green dress with pink embroidered flowers on the pockets, and a too-large brown jacket. She stopped directly in front of him, putting her small hands on her hips.  
"Please, Mister Policeman, you gotta help me!" she demanded, breathing hard from her run, looking up at him with big, pleading blue eyes. "Maddie and me went into the woods, even though Mommy told us not to, and this monster came and took her, and I dunno if she's okay 'cause I was a bad hero and I ran away. But now I found you, an' you gotta help save Maddie, 'cause you're a policeman and they're heroes, so they _gotta_ save people! _Please!_" she begged, tugging on his coat.

He kneeled down to look at the girl at her level, digging through his pockets as he did so for his Sonic Screwdriver, mentally sighing with relief when he located it in his right pants pocket.

"Alright, sweetheart, can you tell me what the monster looked like?" he asked her gently.

She glared at him, pouting. "My name isn't _sweetheart_, it's Amelia. Amelia Felicity Jones."

"Well, Miss _Amelia Felicity Jones_, I can't help you save your sister if I don't know what this monster of yours looks like," he told her.  
Amelia gasped. "But you're a policeman! It's your job to help!"

"Well, then, you'd best tell me what it looked like, hadn't you?"

Amelia furrowed her brows, thinking hard. "It was big. Really big. As big as a car, but not one of those really big cars that Mommy says are bad for the planet or something. It had horns, and a beak, and big scary claws, and biiiiig red wings and a green scaly tail. It was furry, too. Like a big furry dragon, or somethin'."

Well, that eliminated a lot of things (namely Daleks and Cyberman, just for starters)… but still left a lot open.

"All right, take me to this monster of yours," he told her, standing up quickly and offering his hand to her.

"Okay, Mister Policeman! But you gotta hurry, 'kay?" she commanded, grabbing his hand and clutching it tightly, taking off running and pulling him along behind her.

*x*x*x*x*x*x*

The trees surrounding the clearing were shredded to bits, with some greenish goo hanging off the shrapnel. The remains of a playhouse stood near the center, with more of the goo hanging off it.

Amelia gasped in horror when she saw the ruins. "That – that stupid jerk monster! He wrecked our playhouse!"

The Doctor ignored this statement, choosing instead to rummage through of the debris of the playhouse. There was no blood – at least, no _human_ blood. There was, however, a small stuffed polar bear buried under several layers of the wreckage.

"Oh my gosh, that's Kuma!" Amelia exclaimed from directly behind him, causing him to jump slightly. The girl clearly had no sense of "personal space".

"Kuma?" he asked.

"He's Maddie's. She carries him everywhere," Amelia informed him matter-of-factly.

"I see. Well, since she isn't here to do so, would you mind carrying him?" he requested, holding out the bear to her.

"Uh… okay." Amelia took the bear and tucked it under her arm, following the Doctor closely as he walked around the clearing, pointing his Sonic at random objects. He pointed it directly at some of the goo, flipping the Sonic around to read it.

"Huh. That's weird," he muttered, walking towards it and poking at it. A bit came off onto his finger, dripping slowly onto the ground. He sniffed at it, then licked it. "Definitely Gryxolt saliva…" but why was one here?

"Did you just _lick_ that?" Amelia asked, staring at him in horror.

"Well, yes," the Doctor told her, nonplussed. How else was he supposed to figure out what it was?

"That's _disgusting._ That stuff looks like boogers!" she protested, pulling a disgusted face.

"Well, that's the only way I could tell what the monster was. It's called a Gryxolt. They like to take pretty and shiny things, rather magpie-like that way… I'm surprised it didn't take you, actually."

"I'm not. Mommy says that Maddie's the good one, and that I'm obnoxicus," Amelia said, shrugging.

"I think you meant obnoxious," the Doctor corrected.

"That's what I said! Now, c'mon Mister Policeman, we gotta go save Maddie from the Gryzol-thingy!"

"It's a Gryxolt. And besides, we don't know which way it went," the Doctor said, looking around the clearing. The Gryxolt's nest _should've_ been to the east, but there was no sign of a –

"It went that way. Geez, you're not a very good policeman, are you?" Amelia asked, pointing to a trail of broken trees and Gryxolt saliva.

"I'm not a policeman at all," the Doctor explained, sighing. "I'm the Doctor."

"But your box says 'Police' on it! I read it!" Amelia objected, stomping her foot.

"It _does_ say 'Police' on it, you're right. It's really just pretending – it's a magic box, and that's the way it likes to look."

"Oh. Well, Doctors are heroes too, so let's go save Maddie!" Amelia shouted, grabbing onto his hand once again.

*x*x*x*x*x*x*

The entrance to the Gryxolt's nest was exactly what the Doctor expected it to be – a dark cave, hard to get to, and cluttered with shiny things.

Amelia drew close to him, suddenly quiet (she hadn't been earlier – she'd told him her entire life story, her age, her birthday, how many pets she had…).  
"Is – is Maddie in there?" she asked quietly, staring into the entrance.

"She should be. Do you happen to have a flashlight?" he asked her.

"Uhm…" she mumbled, digging through her pockets. "Nope. I got a rubber band, a couple of Hit Clips, and a broken pencil, but no flashlight. Sorry."

"Ah, well, I guess it was a bit much to hope for," the Doctor shrugged, digging through some of the things in the entrance. "Ah _ha!_"

"What is it?"

"Found one," the Doctor said triumphantly, pulling out a heavy-looking metal flashlight from underneath a pile of Gryxolt 'treasures'.

"You _do_ know there's no way that'll work, right? Even if it's got batteries in it, they won't work." Amelia accused, crossing her arms over her chest.

"We'll see about that," the Doctor said, pulling out the Sonic and pointing it at the flashlight. A few moments later, the Doctor tested the flashlight. It worked.

"Fine," Amelia pouted. "You and your magic wand thingy win."

"It's not a wand, it's a screwdriver," the Doctor corrected automatically.

"It's not any kinda screwdriver I know. My daddy has screwdrivers, and that thingy doesn't look like any of them."

"That's because it's a _Sonic_ screwdriver."

"But it doesn't have blue spikes!" Amelia insisted.

The Doctor had no idea what she was saying, and so chose to ignore her. "Look, we're going to go in there now to look for your sister. I need you to hold onto my hand as tightly as possible, alright?"

"Okay," she confirmed, gripping his hand very tightly. The Doctor winced, regretting his choice of words – if she kept this up, he was going to lose circulation in his fingertips.

"All right, good job, but a little looser, please? I think I'm going to need my hand later," the Doctor declared, grimacing.

"Ah, sorry!" Amelia apologised, loosening her grip.

"That's good. Let's go," he said, directing the flashlight into the darkness and walking into the cave. The light bounced off hundreds of shiny, beautiful objects, lining the cave like wallpaper.

Either the Gryxolt had been _very_ busy, or it had been here a _very_ long time, to amass all these 'treasures'…

Amelia was blessedly silent as they went deeper into the cave, until the flashlight shone over a pair of pink tennis shoes.

"Maddie!" she cried, letting go of the Doctor and running towards the shoes.

"'Melia?" a quiet voice asked, cracking a little from disuse. The Doctor raised the flashlight a touch, being careful not to shine in it Maddie's face.

"You're okay! I was so scared –oh, here, I got Kuma for you," Amelia said, handing the stuffed polar bear to her sister.

"Th-thanks, 'Melia," Maddie said, hugging her bear tightly.

"I'm sorry I ran away, Maddie. I – I was a bad hero," Amelia apologised ashamedly. "But I found him, and he helped me find you!" she said excitedly pointing at the Doctor.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, Maddie. Now, let's get out of here before –"

A loud shriek resounded through the cave. The Doctor let off a stream of curses as it faded, leaving Maddie looking at him, scandalised, while grabbing hold of Amelia, who just rolled her eyes.

The ground shook as the Gryxolt grew closer. Objects fell from their carefully stacked piles, clanging as they did so. The Doctor pulled out the Sonic, nearly dropping the flashlight.

Glowing red eyes emerged from the darkness, followed by slightly extended wings and a scaly tail that whipped through the air, knocking more objects down. The three of them froze as the Gryxolt hissed at them, baring sharp fangs.

"_Run,_" the Doctor hissed at the two girls.

"Nuh-uh! I ran away before, I won't do it now!" Amelia shook her head stubbornly, trembling in fear. "Maddie, you go."

"I – I can't go back without you, 'Melia," Maddie whispered. "Mom'll kill me!"

Amelia tugged at a large hubcap leaning against the wall, pulling it towards her with great effort. She walked towards the Gryxolt, throwing the hubcap at it and missing by several feet, hitting another pile.

"Hey, big meanie!" she yelled, her voice echoing. "You can't just take things that don't belong to you, just 'cause you want them!"

The Gryxolt hissed again, advancing closer while raising sharp talons. Amelia backed away quickly, shaking, raising her arm to protect her face. The Gryxolt was faster, slashing at her, giving her four long, deep scratches.

Amelia screamed in pain as the Doctor simultaneously picked her up, grabbed Maddie's hand, and ran out of the cave.

He'd be back to deal with the Gryxolt later – after he got the girls patched up and safely back home.

*x*x*x*x*x*x*

_Back at the TARDIS..._

"Ow ow _ow!_ Stoppit, that hurts!" Amelia protested, squirming against the Doctor's grip as he attempted to clean her scratches.

"It wouldn't hurt quite so much if you'd stop _fidgeting_," the Doctor stated impatiently.

"But it _hurts_!"  
"It'll hurt more if it gets infected, Amelia."

"O-okay, I'll stop. _OW!_" she yelled, wincing.

"And I'm done. Was that really so hard?" the Doctor asked, pulling out bandages.  
"Yes! It hurt a _lot_," Amelia scowled.

"You'll live. The human race has suffered a lot worse than a few scratches in its time. It rarely shows that much bravery, though," the Doctor said as he wound the bandage around her arm. "You didn't have to do that, you know."

"No, I did have to. Somebody had to tell that monster that what he was doing was wrong!" Amelia protested, swinging her legs. "Mommy's gonna be mad about my jacket, though."

"Tell you what," the Doctor thought aloud as he finished wrapping the bandage neatly, "Since it's my fault your jacket was destroyed, I'll get you a new one, how's that sound?"

Amelia's eyes widened. "It wasn't your fault, though! It was that stupid monster's!"

"I'll still get you a new jacket anyway. Can't have your mum mad at me, leads to loads of trouble later on," the Doctor insisted.

"Well, okay then," Amelia said, hopping off the table. "If it'll get me out of trouble."

"Should ought to. You never really know, though; Mums are finicky creatures, no two exactly alike."

"You're really weird. Can we go pick out a jacket for me now?"

"We can. C'mon, wardrobe's this way," he said, leading her out of the medical wing and towards the wardrobe.

"You have the coolest magic box _ever_, you know that?" Amelia said as they passed the library (where the Doctor spotted a glimpse of Maddie, staring in awe at all the books) and the swimming pool.

"I do know that. The coolest, craziest magic box in existence. Here we are, then," he told her, leaning against the doorway while she ran around the room.

She spent several minutes looking through the women's section before deciding that there wasn't anything there she wanted. She skipped over to the men's, staring up at the rows of clothes.

There were plenty of jackets here; long, funny coloured coats that looked like the Easter Bunny threw up on them (she bluntly told the Doctor as much), short pinstriped jackets, and –

"That one. I want _that_ one," she demanded, pointing at a brown leather jacket.

The Doctor looked up to where she was pointing – a World War II American Air Force bomber jacket.

"That one? Are you sure? It'll be much too big for you, you know."

"Don't care! It's the coolest thing in here. Unlike those bow ties, those are lame."

The Doctor stared at her, flabbergasted. What was wrong with her? Bow ties were cool.

"It's totally a hero jacket! My Grandpa had one, and he's got medals and everything to _prove_ he was a hero!"

"If you insist, it's yours," he sighed, plucking it off the rack and handing it to her. She shrugged it on, and then grinned up at him.

Amelia was absolutely _swimming_ in the jacket, the bottom of it reaching past her knees. "Aw, man! This is way too big," she grumbled, looking upset.

"I'm sure you'll grow into it… eventually," he assured her. "In fact, once you have, I want you to call me back here with this, all right?" he asked, slipping a copy of the TARDIS' key into her hands.

"Bu - what is it?"

"It's a key to my magic box. If you hold it very tightly, it'll bring it back here to you."

"Why're you giving it to me, though?" she asked, clearly confused.

"I'm giving it to you because I only take the greatest and bravest of heroes with me on my adventures, that's why," he told her solemnly.

"Oh. _Oh_. Okay, I'll remember to use it when I'm big! Hero's promise!"

"I'll hold you to it, then. Now, come on, let's go rescue your sister from the depths of my library and get you two home."

"Okay!" she said brightly, running out the door and back to the library. "Maddie, c'mon, we're going home now!"

The Doctor smiled. Amelia would make a brilliant companion, once she was old enough. She was bright, intelligent, and always getting into trouble – now all he had to do was wait.

* * *

**NOTES:**

THIS IS ONLY PART ONE. The continuation will be posted... uh, once I'm done writing/typing it. It could be a while longer, yet.

Doctor Who is a British Television Programme that is produced by the BBC. It originally ran from 1963-1989, and then regenerated in the mid-2000's. More info can be found at Wikipedia.  
This particular fic is based off the reboot - more specifically, the Tenth and Eleventh Doctors (David Tennant and Matt Smith, respectively). Again, see Wiki for more details.

The Doctor flies around in the TARDIS, which stands for Time and Relative Dimension(s) In Space. It has a malfunctioning camoflauge unit, which makes it appear as a London Police Telephone box from the 1950's.  
He also owns a "Sonic Screwdriver", which can do a variety of things, including (but not limited to) unlock and lock doors, provide information about things, and jam signals.

The Gryxolt is a creature entirely of my own invention. Please don't steal it! I don't know why you'd want to, but...  
(If you ask nicely, on the other hand, I'll let you borrow it, okay?)

I already have fanart for this one, made by my friend Kaji-san! It can also be found through my profile.

Well, that's all for now, guys!


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